


Perfect Faith

by PrincexPhoenix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Sam Winchester, Angel Wings, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wing Oil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincexPhoenix/pseuds/PrincexPhoenix
Summary: Samael, otherwise known as Sam or Sammy, one of God's creations, often neglects his wings. Lucifer, with an agenda of his own, decides to lend a helping hand.
Relationships: Lucifer/Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Perfect Faith

“You need to take better care of your wings, baby brother.”

Samael huffs, turning his head over his uppermost wing. Lucifer is crouched behind them, looking at each individual feather with a critical eye. Together, the feathers are white with an iridescent sheen. Each of the barbs on Sam’s vanes, though, are clear. Their Father described it like a polar bear’s fur - you had to look close to see its true nature. Sam would never have minded, because his Father was right in all things, but he did find that the dirt and grime of creation stuck to his feathers more than the feathers of his siblings. It made him feel grubbier than the rest. Unclean.

Lucifer’s fingers are sure and gentle as they run along the top of Sam’s wing. It shivers in response, attuned to the way that Lucifer strokes them. “I mean, really. Dad gave you such beautiful wings, and this is how you treat them?” He tweaks a feather, and the sting travels down Sam’s spine. “Downright sacrilegious, if you ask me.”

“And you would know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?” Samael teases, twisting his wing to allow Lucifer access to the more hidden secondary feathers. “Sacrilege, I mean.”

“I thought you would say beautiful wings,” Lucifer says, stretching his glorious set of eight out as if they were banners. 

Unlike Sam’s clear ones, Lucifer’s are a proper white. There is a sheen on them that alternates between a warm red and cold purple, depending on Lucifer’s moods. Now they shine red, and Sam blushes. It means that Lucifer is happy, despite his words, and Sam cannot help the way he preens at one of his free wings.

“You know how I feel about your wings, brother,” he says. 

It comes out more tender than he means. He is about to try and take back his words when Lucifer laughs, a clear, ringing sound.

“And my sacrilege, such as it was,” he says. The Mark glows bright on his arm, and Samael resists the urge to touch it. “Seriously, though, Sammy. You have to take better care of yourself. Dean isn’t always going to be there to clean up any wounds.”

Samael winces; Lucifer either pretends not to notice or doesn’t care. “I would never allow any wounds to stay on my wings,” he protests.

“No, just dirt,” Lucifer says, and a pot of wing oil appears by his hand. “Righteous dirt sullying righteous wings. I wonder what Father would say about such irony.”

Sam hums, because Lucifer has dipped his fingers into the warm oil and is spreading a generous amount along a single feather. Saml dips his head, closing his eyes, losing himself in the caress of oil-slicked fingers running along his barbs. Lucifer pays special attention to the after-feather and downy barbs, oiling them and letting them dry fluffier and clean. Sam rolls his shoulders and earns a cuff on the back of his head.

“Behave,” Lucifer scolds.

“I am behaving,” Samael says, tilting his head forward, a flush settling on his cheeks. “I always behave.”

“You are Father’s good son,” Lucifer says, and there is an edge to his voice that startles Samael. 

But then he’s dabbing more oil on another feather and repeating the cleaning process. Sam near moans at the relief of an itch he is only now aware he had, possibly for a few years. Lucifer chuckles again, moving his fingers from the base of the feather to the tip a couple of times. Sam looks down and sees that there is a growing pile of dirt by his feet, and has the grace to be ashamed. If he is his Father’s good son, why are his wings the dirtiest of all the Archangels?

“Why are you cleaning my wings today?” he asks. “Usually, Dean - Denael is the one.”

“Denael is occupied elsewhere,” Lucifer says, his voice tight. “Michael has him training for the upcoming war.”

Of course, Sam thinks, his heart sinking. Michael and Lucifer always groomed each others’ wings. He is Lucifer’s second choice, and the idea bothers him more than he would have thought it could. It also bothers him that Dean is with someone else, and he wonders if he and Lucifer have adoration for their elder sibling in common. He thinks they do, based on the worshipful way Lucifer says Michael’s name.

“Would you like me to clean yours?” Samael ventures, blinking his sky-blue eyes. He wonders idly if his Father made the sky blue first or his eyes. It is vain to think that his Father would do anything based on him, and he feels ashamed again. Pride and corruption in equal measure. Lucifer would never fall prey to such petty sins.

“After, after,” Lucifer says, waving his free hand. “I want to pay attention to yours first, Sammy.”

They lapse into silence, Lucifer good on his word as he pays particular attention to Sam’s uppermost wing. As he does, Samael thinks of the nickname. Denael always called him ‘Sammy’, ever since they were created and they bonded with each other. They were both created at the same time, Dean coming into being just before Samael did, and so their Father called them brothers in a way that the others didn’t have. Sam found that he didn’t mind the idea, and so when Dean started to call him Sammy, changing his name, it was a small sin that Sam forgave.

Somehow, it feels different when Lucifer says it. It feels like a bigger sin, one that Samael is afraid to touch. Still, little thrills go down his back when Lucifer says it, and so he allows it with another gut-curling spike of shame. What is one more, he thinks, when he is already his Father’s dirtiest angel?

Lucifer finishes with Sam’s uppermost wing, dragging his oiled palm along the gleaming feathers with a satisfied air. There is a look in his eyes that suggests longing, but for what Sam isn’t sure. He feels boneless, though, as Lucifer turns to the other wing, gliding soothing fingers along the vanes. Dirt falls away and is obliterated with a careless swipe of Lucifer’s hand. He is power and light incarnate, and Sam feels something different twinge deep within his stomach.

“You've never focused on me before,” Sam says.

“Of course I have,” Lucifer says. He presses against Sam's back, reaching towards the higher feathers. “I've taken great interest in you, Samael.”

He moves away from Sam's uppermost wings to his middle pair, taking a moment to examine them. They are harder for Samael to reach, and so he knows that there is more dirt collected there. Lucifer combs through the feathers, his voice low.

“I mean, who wouldn't take notice of you? Your long hair, the same colour as reeds, your clear wings.” He reaches up and tugs at a lock of Sam's hair. “You are a very pretty angel.”

Suddenly, his fingers in Sam's wings feel different. Deeper. His lips part and he tries to twist his upper body over to face Lucifer. Lucifer stops him, digging his fingers into Samael's lowest wings.

“I told you to behave,” he says, his tone light. 

Sam stops and, slowly, turns back. “Brother,” he says. “We shouldn't.”

“Shouldn't what?” Lucifer asks. “I'm just cleaning your wings, Sammy. What are you so afraid of?”

“I have seen you and Michael groom each other,” Sam admits. “I - I never mean to watch.”

“I know,” Lucifer says. He sounds amused, and that comforts Sam. “I know you like to watch, dear brother. Why do you think I put on such a show? It’s always lost to Michael.”

He finishes with Sam’s wings and stays there, stroking his feathers. Samael knows that taking joy in their physical forms, the ones they wear to not distress the humans, is forbidden to them. Pride is forbidden. But the way Lucifer is paying attention to him fills him with the sinful emotion, and he shifts, a flush settling along his collarbones. Lucifer makes a small sound, touching the warmth with his fingers.

“Do you know,” he says, “that even your blushes are clear? Father really made you to wear your heart on your sleeve, didn’t he?”

He tilts Sam’s head back, stroking down the side of his jaw. Sam shudders and closes his eyes, trying to find his bearings. He thinks he ought to push away from Lucifer, retreat from the searing light that’s in front of him before he taints it. Father created him to be a faithful, pure angel, and right now, Sam feels anything but pure. The least he could do is refuse to drag his brother down with him. Yet he stays still, shaking, teetering on a precipice that he isn’t sure he can survive if he falls.

“You know,” Lucifer says, musing, his light touches along Samael’s lips sending little curls of flame through him, “Father doesn’t really appreciate us the way he should, does he?” One of his fingertips pushes past Sam’s lips, and Sam lets out a startled breath at the taste of oil and light. “I mean, we give him everything - we love him with all we have, fly around his head and sing about how holy and wonderful he is, but he would rather spend time with the human toys he makes than us.”

It is sedition, Sam knows; he has heard of the whispers among the other angels. This is not Lucifer’s first time saying such things, and yet, here, it sounds like a sweet melody. Lucifer’s eyes glow a blue that cannot be found in the natural world, and Sam tilts his head back. Delicate, oil-slicked fingers rest on his throat and Lucifer kisses the corner of his mouth. After a brief pause, Lucifer kisses him full on the mouth, and Sam feels a small part of him unwind.

Lucifer’s fingers tangle in his hair instead of his feathers, pulling just to the point of pain and stopping. It exposes his throat, and Lucifer takes advantage, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses down the column of it. Sam moans, and pulls Lucifer’s head up to kiss him, their tongues entwining. Lucifer takes it as the encouragement it is, and lays Sam against the cold, hard floor of Heaven. His body is warm, and Samael wraps his thighs around him, bringing them closer to each other.

Lucifer shifts so that he is kneeling between Sam’s legs, their chests pressed together. He pulls away enough so that Sam can look into those crystal blue eyes and see the shortness of Lucifer’s blond hair. He allows himself the indulgence of running his fingers through it, and Lucifer turns his head to kiss the inside of Sam’s wrist. There is a definite glow blooming in Sam’s breast, and he cannot stop himself from smiling.

“I thought this was wrong,” he breathes.

“Would I ever lead you to do anything wrong?” Lucifer asks, showering kisses down on Sam’s face.

“You?” Samael asks, teasing again, his hands roaming along Lucifer’s broad chest. “No, brother, never.”

Lucifer smirks and kisses Sam deep, biting at his lower lip. The sharp sensation is not unpleasant, and Sam parts his lips again, drawing Lucifer’s tongue in with his own. They lay like that for a few moments, hands bunching in the fabric of each others’ robes, wings spread wide behind them. There is something hard between Lucifer’s legs and it rubs against Sam’s thigh. When he touches it, Lucifer shivers, and he takes some pleasure in making his brother arch his back.

Lucifer rears back and pulls his robe over his head, exposing pale white skin shot through with lines of silver. His true form leaks through the cracks in the vessel, already expanding and threatening to unleash itself. It makes what they are doing more dangerous, more illicit, and Samael touches each mark with reverent fingertips. Idolatry, his mind warns, but it is a small and quiet part of him. He follows his light touch with his tongue, and can taste Lucifer’s holiness.

Lucifer pulls Sam’s robes off of him and their bodies lay entwined, hips rutting against each other in a desperate search for release. There is a pressure that Sam has not felt before building between his legs, and he puts a hand between them, touching his cock that defies gravity to curl towards his stomach. The way his hand grazes it feels good, and so he presses firmer on it until Lucifer grabs his wrist.

“That’s my job,” he growls against the side of Sam’s jaw.

He places his hand between Sam’s legs, warm and oiled, and strokes it once up the length of Sam’s cock. He bucks his hips in response, and Lucifer hums, rubbing his thumb along the head of it, swirling clear fluid and golden oil together. His tongue flicks against the combined liquid and Sam swallows, his eyes wide. Lucifer lowers his mouth to Sam, taking the head of his length into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks. The wetness of it is like nothing Sam ever knew, and he groans. The sound rips from him, and Lucifer looks pleased.

Inch by inch, Lucifer lowers his mouth onto Sam, until his nose is grazing the smooth skin of Sam’s stomach. There he stays, still, his eyes locked on Sam’s. Sam watches him move back up, leaving a trail of saliva behind, and is captivated. There is an intensity in Lucifer’s stare that he has never seen before. As Lucifer’s head bobs up and down, Sam’s breathing grows ragged and he feels the pressure building, turning into a roaring crescendo that makes him feel like he is going to burst-

And he does, warm and hot fluid spurting from him. Lucifer takes it down the back of his throat, never breaking eye contact, before pulling away with a wet sound. He licks his lips clean and lays against Sam’s chest, running his fingers along each dip of Sam’s muscles.

“Why did you do that?” Sam asks at last, half-dazed.

Lucifer clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” Sam says, stroking Lucifer’s gleaming white feathers. Lucifer shifts, looking pleased at the attention, and cuddles in closer. “Do you want me to - how would I -”

He laughs and kisses the side of Sam’s mouth again. There is a lingering feeling of warmth, and Sam touches it, smiling.

“No, this was about you,” Lucifer says. “I have a favour to ask of you, Samael.”

“What?” Sam asks, propping himself up on his elbows.

Lucifer frowns, his fingers stilling on Sam’s chest. “Come with me, when I go to ask Father to care about his first creations again. About us.” His beautiful, fierce eyes glow. “I want to feel this good all the time. Don’t you?”

Samael turns the idea over in his head, and finds it terrifying. But Lucifer’s steady breathing eases his mind, and he nods, burying his head in Lucifer’s gold, silken hair. It smells of wheat and electricity, life and heat. Lucifer strokes his chest, humming, a small smile on his face as they lay together, contemplating what it would mean to defy their Father together.

To defy God.


End file.
